


The Angel Of The Café Across The Bookstore

by ThatOneFinnishFangirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angel Courting, Angel Wings, Angels, Coffee Shops, Demons, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gentleman, Heaven, Humor, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Pining, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 01:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20300881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneFinnishFangirl/pseuds/ThatOneFinnishFangirl
Summary: The highlight of Aziraphale's day is when he gets to see the girl of The Coffee shop across the street go on her daily 45-minute break. Usually, she'll sit by the café window by the best table of the shop and read as she sips coffee. Some days she'll leave the store and run some errands. Those days she usually crosses the street and he'll get to see her up close as she walks past his bookstore. He always wishes she'll enter his store. At the same time, he wishes she doesn't because he is a coward and certain that his blatant feelings for her would be obvious to her and he might drive her away for good. Aziraphale is certain that she is an angel. She must be. No one is that kind or that beautiful without being an angel. Right? It isn't until the Demon Crowley makes some dark miracles of his own that the café owner and the Angel of the Bookstore meet.





	1. The Girl In The Rain

Even now after 4 years, Aziraphale remembered seeing the owner of the pale blue coffee shop across the street for the very first time. The vintage clothing store that had once resided across the street from his bookstore had closed after being there for over twenty years when the owner had passed. For months the dark grey and rundown store space had stood empty with a for sale sign on its windows. No one seemed to want to buy the old place as it was dusty, its paint was cracking and inside it smelled like old cheese. And while Aziraphale could appreciate some old cheese, this store smelled like a cheese that could make you drop dead after one bite.

It took four months for someone to buy the place. And as the for sale signs turned into sold signs Aziraphale waited to see what would rise in the place of the old store and wondered who had bought it. The answer came less than a week later when a moving van parked by the store and people in raincoats started unloading the van in horrible weather that could give you pneumonia. The rain poured down on the poor people unforgivingly most likely wetting them from head to toe even with their raincoats on.

While most of the movers wore black raincoats one person stood out and Aziraphale watched their work fondly. One of the movers, most likely the owner of the shop that had hired the movers was wearing nothing but a yellow summer dress. She got wet from head to toe in that weather and her hair stuck to her skin like glue as it got soggy, but she still did her best to help the movers. She didn't seem to mind the rain and smiled through the whole two hours that they carried boxes, tables, and chairs to the store. She seemed happy, uncaring of the horrible weather. Somehow watching the young woman brought a smile to Aziraphale's face as he would peek from his windows to see them working.

And when they were finally done, Aziraphale wanted to invite the young woman to his store to warm up by the fireplace, as her shop most likely didn't have electricity turned on yet, but after she had waved and thanked the moving men, she locked her shop and smiled at the sky, before running away happily in the rain hopefully to an apartment nearby.

That night Aziraphale found himself hoping that the young woman, happy as sunshine wouldn't get sick from the cold rain.

The next day she was back. There were no signs of the foul weather of yesterday as Aziraphale walked to his bookstore and noticed the young woman from yesterday walking to the same direction but on the other side of the street. He wished to greet her but didn't want to impose or seem too eager. So he settled to walking into his store, opening it and staring out of the window, waiting for customers with a clear view of the young woman's work. She walked around her shop at first, seemingly doing preparations before coming outside with a paint bucket and a brush and just like that; she got to work.

Now to say that the traditional gentleman Aziraphale was surprised when the woman first splashed the baby blue color on the walls of her shop would be an understatement. He was flabbergasted. The whole street was rather traditionally colored. If you didn't count in the dark red ochre painted hair salon on the next street over, all the stores were black, brown, dark green or blue. Not a single building was a bright or pale color and now this woman was making her store look like a dollhouse.

But even with the strange looks and even a few yells from annoyed shop owners the woman smiled on and kept painting, speaking politely to all those that came to her way and even offered them all some biscuits she had.

And Aziraphale... Was enchanted. He watched the woman all day as he moved around in his store, labeling books, sorting them out and even reading one while he was at it. She was so polite and kind but in a genuine way. She even played hopscotch with a few kids that came to speak with her and allowed them to paint a little, even though their work was sloppy and she had to correct it once they were gone. She didn't even seem at all annoyed about the half an hour of extra work.

Now the store shared was connected to two other shops from both sides so the young woman could only paint the front of the store. By the time the day was done, she was finished...

The young woman dragged out a petite table and a chair and after disappearing into her shop for a while returned with a coffee mug and a book. But as the woman sipped her coffee and read, Aziraphale didn't even realize that the book that had gained her devoted interest was his favorite book, as he was busy truly looking at her for the first time. To this point, he had seen her wet and hadn't known how curly her hair had been. Now it was on natural messy curls that framed her face as if she were a goddess. It also had appeared like a light brown, which was untrue as her hair, now dry was strawberry blonde with the tips of her hair a much lighter blonde. He didn't know that during the next four years her hair would turn fully white at the hair ends. He only now noticed that her lips were plump and her brows defined. Her body was far more petite than he had thought and he now wondered how she was even able to carry the table outside. The most amazing detail of her was her eyes. One was a honey brown. An amazing bright ember that looked like molten gold when she looked up at the sky. The other was a bright blue that looked like a wave when she blinked.

He wondered how he hadn't noticed before how utterly perfect she was. It was true that all of gods creations looked beautiful to him, but this one seemed special. The whole day he had seen her smile, and be kind, act as a ray of sunshine and never once say a bad word. He had seen the beauty in the inside and overlooked how gorgeous she was on the outside. 

It then Aziraphale had known how strange and baffling feelings he would have for the girl mere months later, and years to come he might have performed a small miracle of his own to drive the girl off this street to set her shop somewhere else and save himself the trouble. But of course, he did not know and was about to be shot by a cherub, before he was ready.

***

This is how I imagine Parisa: (Face claim; Kseniya Rain)


	2. The Man In The Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time the angel of the café ever saw the angel of the bookstore.

Parisa was the type of person that she seemed to pay attention to the beings around more than the materialistic side of life. This is why she was so surprised that she only noticed the owner of the bookstore across the street after having her café set up and open for four months. It was early morning and a delightfully beautiful one. While normally she would ride her blue bike to work, nor she decided to leave earlier and walk. The sun was shining, flowers bloomed up into the sky growing between the cracks of the cobblestones beneath her feet. Birds sang and clouds were tiny whisps on the sky that allowed the sun to easily seep through. Nothing seemed to be amiss that morning and everything seemed perfect.

People laughed and smiled, kids played on the streets and rejoiced as they were on their summer breaks. They ate ice cream and dogs got some well-deserved exercise. The sunny day seemed to brighten everyone up.

Except for the man that was walking across the street from Parisa, but had been walking to the same direction for a long while now. Parisa saw him by chance as she bought strawberries from a vendor on her way and stopped to eat them.

The man had short, curly white hair. His eyes were as light a blue, as the sky above them that day and he was dressed in clothing that looked as if they were from the Victorian era. A nude-colored long jacket, a brown vest, and a pale blue button-up shirt. He had paired it with a bow tie and all in all, looked rather sophisticated. Still even with his well looked after appearance he looked... Out of place. His clothing told him apart from the others as he seemed like he belonged to another century. She looked glorious in the sunshine.

The man looked rather sad like something was deeply troubling. He looked soft and kind and had a plump stature that only gave him a more sincere appearance. Parisa never liked to see anyone sad, but around this man, she felt an even greater need to console him. He didn't deserve to be sad, she wanted him to be happy. Just as she had decided to cross the street and offer him some strawberries, perhaps engage in lovely conversation she saw a red flaming head of hair running towards the white-haired man.

The scene seizer her as she thought they shouldn't be bothered as they seemed to have a rather heated conversation with both parties annoyed at the other. And Parisa wasn't surprised. The man with the white hair looked like he was straight out of a gentleman's book, while the other man looked like he was from an old rock magazine. He had black clothing on, a jacket and tight jeans and a vest slightly open at the bottom. In fact, the only color he had on save his hair seemed to be a thin scarf-like accessory he had around his neck that was a grey color with a hint of blue mixed into it. His belt had a snakehead on the buckle and all in all the man seemed like a manager of a famous rocker that had gone too far off the charts.

The man seemed very much like opposites and at first sight, no one would guess they even knew each other. However as Parisa kept walking and sometimes glancing back at the two men walking at a steady pace, they seemed to warm up to one another. Their shouts turned to comfortable conversation and their angry steps turned calm and collected. They sometimes even let out small chuckles that Parisa could hear across the street.

While she was glad the two men came along, Parisa still wished to know where the two peculiar men were going and she was utterly thrown back when the white-dressed man pulled out a pair of keys and opened the bookstore across the street as Parisa did the same with her coffee shop.

Now Parisa, as a woman fond of books had noticed the book store across the street a multitude of times. It was after all a deep wine red-purple shade that blended in with the other buildings while somehow standing out to her. The paint was old and the store could use a new layer, but to Parisa's eyes, the store only looked homier like this. The name of the bookstore was _AZ Fell and Co_. Two white pillars framed the door and above the windows lay a text you could barely read:_ Antiquarian And Unusual Books._

Now during the next few days, Parisa lived life as normal. She opened her shop, made coffee, served customers, read a book on her break, cleaned up, and closed her shop before going home. Every day mixed with the last and every day Parisa wanted to visit the bookstore more and more. The red-haired man from before seemed to be its only customer, but he always left the place bookless as Parisa never saw anyone other than him enter and felt utterly bad about it. 

She didn't enjoy that books were online. She wanted to feel the paper, to lick her fingertips before turning the rough papers. She wanted to read for hours and hours without getting a headache from the screen light of a phone. She wanted to see the words, hold a book and carry it around. She loved seeing the bookshelves in her apartment filled to the brim and couldn't help herself from buying more books. But books, and learning at that was dying out. People were turning lazy and she could see it in her favorite small book stores closing. It hurt her heart every day and wanted to do something to help. So... She bought even more books.

She didn't want the bookstore across the street to close but never seemed to be able to cross the street to enter. She wanted to go say hello as a neighboring shop owner but after six months it felt late and forced so she never went. She tried to come up with another reason to enter the store, but she didn't need more books and something seemed to always get in her way as she started to cross the street to the bookstore. Whether it was a kid asking her to play hopscotch, a new customer, traffic or even a car crash right in front of her store, something always came into the way of her going to visit the store. 

After she'd had her café open for a year she finally gave up on her mission. The world was against her meeting the man with white hair and peculiar style, and who was she to question the universe?


	3. Little Miracles Against Us

It was in fact little miracles that he didn't create that stopped Aziraphale from welcoming the young woman of the café across the street into the neighborhood. Every time he crossed the street it would start to rain or a car would almost run him over. Thunder would roar or Crowley would suddenly show up and Aziraphale was incapable of brushing his friend aside. And so he never paid welcome to the young woman that intrigued him so, even though he tried...

In only two weeks the young woman had turned the old store into something marvelous. A café with a soul.

On the outside, the small establishment was pale blue, with sweet looking white chairs and tables on the outside and inside. All in all the café was so small that it only had five tables in total with two of them outside so people could enjoy the sun. There were always flowers on the tables, vintage flower paintings decorated the walls inside and a delicious smell of coffee was always wafting outside. You see this café was not just any other with an espresso machine. After just a day of being open people were complimenting the coffee there as if was created by God. You see, the owner grained the coffee beans in the shop herself and they were from a private plantation that had fair wages. The coffee was fully natural and the shop only served the best. The hippies of London were losing their cool over it and quite quickly the shop was mildly popular. It was never full and the young woman never seemed to be overworked. She was able to manage the place at a beautiful flair and pace while giving time for herself too.

She had no employees and took care of the shop all on her own as did Aziraphale his.

It was on the second day of the coffee shops opening when Aziraphale finally found out the young owners name. He didn't want to ask around and so he waited and soon a sign of the store appeared above its large window: Little Parisa. The owner was indeed named Parisa and the shop's name was a wordplay of her name and the city of Paris, a joke that Aziraphale enjoyed thoroughly.

Already on the second week of Little Parisa's opening Aziraphale started having his tea around two which is when the owner of the café would take her own break drinking coffee and reading a book. She would sit by her window with a smile, sometimes looking out, other times fully focusing on her book. It turned out that she had a splendid taste in books. She seemed to be reading Aziraohale's favorites in fact.

And precisely as she would sit in her favorite chair, Aziraphale would sit down for tea, strategically by his own window so he could see right into her shop. And he'd watch her smile and read knowing exactly which chapter of each book she must have been reading. After a year had passed it became a habit for him to read the same book she was reading, as if they were reading together. They seemed to read at the same pace too. Well... Maybe Aziraphale read a little slower so he could match her pace and they could laugh at the same time at funny scenes. He found himself skipping the sad parts of books by accident. When a character died or lovers were pulled apart. When war raged and mothers lost their children he would look at her, as she would silently cry over events in their beloved books. He felt close to her even when they were apart.

And slowly... He felt like he got to know her. He knew when she took her break, what she liked to eat, he knew she volunteered at an animal shelter every Saturday and helped the homeless on Sundays. And he knew she loved magic. And not the type of magic Aziraphale's oldest books told about. Not witches and unicorns. She loved close up magic. Every day she would stop on her way of going home to a clear conman and try to beat him at a trickery based game of cards. It cost her 5 pounds every day but she loved to see the trick over and over again trying to understand how it worked. Aziraphale smiled every time he saw her clap excitedly as the man would beat her in the game again. And while it was nice to see someone enjoying the dying art so ferociously he did feel bad about her losing all her money. So pretty soon she picked a habit of finding money from the streets. Paper money would fly against her shop window, get stuck on her shoes or plainly she'd come across a five-pound note while walking. It was like a... _Miracle_.

Aziraphale perhaps would reverse his miracle if he knew she wasn't keeping the money, but giving it to the first beggar she would come across.

She was sweet and gentle and Aziraphale felt an odd warmth in her chest every time he'd watch her water flowers, or smile as she looked after her customers.

It wasn't until her second year of owning the café came around when Aziraphale started doubting her humanity. And even that was only after some strange events. On a lovely summer day, she gathered all the kids of the street together to paint her flower pots. She allowed the kids to all take one to their parents, but the rest she planted her flowers in and placed them on display at her shop. They stood outside the store with their bright colors and messy handiwork of the kids. One day a strong gush of wind blew one of the pots over, cracking it so that two large pieces fractured off. Alarmed by the crashing sound Parisa had been quick to come to check on her pots and cleaned the mess up, taking the pot and the bamboo plant in it inside. The bamboo hadn't made it either, it had snapped in to from the middle, yet somehow, by a miracle from above in less than five minutes after disappearing into her shop, the young woman returned with both pot and bamboo miraculously fixed.

Aziraphale couldn't believe his eyes, some glue could have fixed the pot, but not the bamboo. Even his keen eyes couldn't see any sign of the pot ever being broken.

The next little miracle came in the form of a lost teddy bear. The name of the black-haired girl living a few buildings away is Emma and she never goes anywhere without her pink teddy bear. The young girl has a particular fondness for the coffee shop owner as she makes Emma hot chocolate in the winters for free. On day Aziraphale was reading when he saw the young girl skipping over the road out of the coffee shop and toward home when she dropped Mrs, Wiggles on the road. And just as Aziraphale was going to get up and return the teddy, it became an unfortunate victim of the modern car as it was run over.

The teddy was squished and har dark tire marks in its pink fur.

But along came one Parisa who yelled after the girl who then seized right under Aziraphale's window only to see Parisa pick up the teddy, cross the road and return it to the girl; good as new. Somehow in those mere feet she walked the teddy was restored to its former glory.

Aziraphale had never seen Parisa this close up. And seeing her like this; so close and so vibrant he could see details he hadn't noticed before. Like the fact that she has small freckles all over her face and that the tips of her hair were now a frosty white.

When it came to odd unexplainable things happening around Parisa there seemed to be plenty. But after a while, Aziraphale grew blind to these oddities, but a small voice still questioned it in his head. He wondered if she were really human. He couldn't be sure and at worst feared that she could have been sent from above to look after him. 

That day was also when she first didn't sit by her window and instead left her store on her break. She crossed the street and Aziraphale's breath was caught in his throat. He dropped his tea cup on the floor and didn't even look down when it shattered into a million pieces.

She was walking towards _his_ bookstore. 

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to comment as I appreciate your feedback and want to better my story to fit my reader's opinions and thoughts... Also, comments give me the motivation to keep writing.


End file.
